


Solace

by Brenda



Series: All Along The Watchtower [4]
Category: Black Hawk Down (2001)
Genre: M/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:38:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt and Hoot find comfort in each other.  Takes place directly after <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1693517">Forgiveness</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solace

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2009.

  
_"There's too much confusion_  
 _I can't get no relief"_  
\- **Jimi Hendrix**

  
**June 1994 – Pikeville, KY**

  
When Matt woke up, dizzy, disoriented, mouth tasting of cotton, still dressed in his shirt and slacks, it was completely dark. It took him a few fuzzy moments to remember where he was. Pikeville. Hoot. A soft kiss that had promised more before Hoot had propelled him inside and out of his boots and onto a soft bed, underneath softer sheets. 

He dragged a hand over his face, scrubbed the grit from his eyes. Waited for the familiar crushing weight to settle in his chest, and frowned when it didn't. In its absence, he could feel far too much. 

He didn't know how to deal with feeling anything these days that wasn't guilt. 

"I wake you?" The question barely stirred the air. Matt turned his head to see Hoot standing in the doorway, shadowed by the hall light, still dressed in his t-shirt and shorts from earlier. 

"No, uh." Matt rubbed his eyes again, cracked his neck. "I think I woke myself. Time's it?" 

"10ish." 

He'd slept for 11 hours. No wonder he felt so out of it. But then, he figured he needed the downtime. 

"You hungry at all?" Hoot asked. 

"Maybe." Matt thought about it for a moment. "Definitely." 

Hoot's smile gleamed. "Thought so. Left you a pair of sweats and a shirt on the dresser. Get out of your uniform, get comfortable. I'll be in the kitchen." 

The sweats were baggy at the thighs and knees – he and Hoot were of a height, but Hoot had more bulk. Matt pulled them on slowly, feeling like a creaky, old man. When he pulled the t-shirt over his head, he caught a faint smell of oranges and smoke. Hoot. The scent was comforting, safe. 

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt truly safe. 

He found Hoot in the kitchen as promised. The smell of frying bacon made his stomach rumble. He tried to remember the last time he'd eaten anything – before seeing Jamie's parents, maybe or, hell, maybe even before he'd made the trip. Everything was a blur. Everything except the piercing, unwelcome words of comfort and forgiveness Jamie's parents had given him before he'd left their house. 

"Have a seat," Hoot said, and pointed at the breakfast table in the corner of the kitchen. Matt was willing to bet this was where Hoot took most of his meals. 

"I know it's late and all, but bacon and eggs're quick," Hoot said, and shoved a full plate in front of Matt before sitting across from him. 

"Thanks," Matt said, and picked up his fork. 

He didn't look up again until he'd cleaned his plate. 

"Feel better?" Hoot asked, and Matt didn't even need to glance his way to know that Hoot was vastly amused. It didn't bother him. He was sure he looked like a man who hadn't eaten in over a month. 

"Much," he replied, and picked up his coffee mug. Wasn't quite as aromatic as the coffee Grimes used to make, but Grimes was a self-professed connoisseur. Hoot had always been far too practical for nuance. "Thanks again." 

Hoot waved him off. Silence settled like a blanket between them, but, far from feeling smothered, Matt felt secure. Protected. As long as Hoot was here, he'd be alright. No clue why he felt this way – why he'd always felt that way, even during the dark night of the siege at the Alamo – but he was grateful for it all the same. 

He listened to the sounds of cicadas or crickets or whatever they were through the open window, listened to the sound of the wind whistling through the trees. Listened to Hoot breathing beside him, each breath a reminder, a promise. Hoot was here. They were both here, and alive, and maybe, God, maybe... 

He looked up to find Hoot gazing at him, brown eyes flecked with green and gold, promising more, asking for nothing. Thought about that long ago night, of how, for those few stolen hours with Hoot's body pressed against his and the heat of Hoot's tongue tangling with his, everything had felt _right_. 

For those few hours, everything had made sense. 

When Hoot stood and tugged him out of the chair, Matt went willingly into strong arms, sought the acrid bite of Hoot's mouth. Sought oblivion, forgetfulness, in the heated press of firm lips on his. He couldn't offer much, just himself, tired, broken and run-down, but he didn't think Hoot would mind too much. 

"I didn't even know I missed this," he said, stepping closer. Ran his hands under Hoot's shirt, across the scars on Hoot's stomach. 

"Stay," Hoot murmured, and under the request was a plea. Matt didn't even hesitate; he just nodded and slanted his mouth back over Hoot's. Leaving wasn't even an option. 

They stumbled out of the kitchen and down the hall, towards the bedroom, helping each other to shed unwanted clothes along the way until they were both completely naked. Matt fell backwards onto the mattress, bringing Hoot down with him. Hoot's body covered his as their lips clung together, each kiss hard, yet somehow vulnerable. 

"It's alright, Matt," Hoot whispered, the words raspy, then licked the hollow of Matt's throat. "It'll be alright." 

Matt didn't know about any of that – in fact, he thought that he'd never be alright again – but he knew what Hoot was trying to do. Knew and was more than willing to go along with it. 

He ran his hands along a strong back, tested each muscle, skated across the wide expanse of Hoot's shoulders. Took his time this time, memorizing every inch of skin he encountered – they had a bed and all the privacy they could want, and neither of them had any place to be. Hoot murmured his appreciation as he pressed Matt deeper into the bed. Pressed _into_ him and each tangled, sliding kiss was its own declaration of more to come. 

"Need...please...need you..." And here, here with the thin cotton sheet sticking to his back and Hoot's skin sticking to his front, with the taste of oranges in Hoot's kiss filling his senses, with Hoot's hands assured and gentle on him, Matt could let go, could forget. Here, there were no ghosts to bring him to his knees. Here, the only echoes he heard were those of harsh, panted breaths as their lips slid together again. 

"Matt..." His name was a shaking caress on Hoot's tongue as Hoot lifted his head, gazed at him with some emotion Matt couldn't name. "Matt, man, you don't have to, we don't..." 

"I need this." He couldn't explain it to himself – didn't _want_ to, if he was completely honest – but he knew, deep down inside, that this was the reason he'd sought Hoot out, and no one else. 

Hoot stared at him for another long moment, then ducked his head. The kiss, voluptuous and slow, was all the answer Matt needed. He wormed a hand between them, palmed Hoot's cock, tried to drag his fist down while returning the kiss, every movement uncoordinated, jerky. 

"I've never..." 

"Me neither," Matt replied, and it was okay that neither of them had a clue. More than, really. He liked the idea that Hoot, for once, wasn't an expert at something. They'd figure it out together. 

Hoot huffed out a laugh and dropped his forehead to Matt's. "Quite the pair, aren't we?" 

"We'll muddle through," Matt smiled, dragging his hands along the corded strength of Hoot's arms. 

"I never even wanted this with another guy." Hoot's kiss was soft; his next confession even softer. "That night after the Mog with you was the first time I ever..." 

"I know, me too," and, somehow, that felt right as well. Whatever this was between them, it was theirs and no one else's. 

"You sure?" 

Matt nodded, no hesitation, and arched up. Rubbed against Hoot, felt the strength, the acceptance, and yielded to it. To this. "Yeah, I just –" 

"Yeah. I know." And then Hoot's mouth was back on his, taking Matt's breath, and any small doubt he might've had. 

He was panting, fingers digging bruises along Hoot's shoulderblades when he lifted his head. "Do you –?" 

Hoot nodded, the motion nervous, and it calmed Matt down even more to see it. "Lotion on the nightstand for, uh, f-for when I..." 

Matt brushed his lips across Hoot's again, halted the stutter. "Perfect." 

The first thick push of Hoot's finger inside him hurt, but overriding it was a sense of fullness. Of peace. Matt did his best to relax into it, to push his hips down instead of away, to meet Hoot's finger and breathe as Hoot murmured softly to him between soft kisses and soothing touches. 

"You okay?" 

"Yeah –" The sigh turned into a hiss when Hoot added a second finger, also slick with lotion. 

He rode Hoot's fingers until it got to be too much, and when he whispered _now_ into Hoot's mouth, Hoot's shuddering nod felt like a benediction. And the first push of Hoot's cock inside him felt like forgiveness. 

"Fuck, you're so..." And Hoot crushed his lips to Matt's, the kiss explosive, hot, as he started to move. The pain of it rippled through Matt, shocking and raw. The burn of it all but incinerated him, and he braced his feet on the mattress, pushed up, pushed into it, into Hoot, wanted more. He felt filled, welcomed, at home for the first time since Somalia. 

After a few awkward stops and starts, they finally found a rhythm, Hoot pushing down, hips flexing, Matt rising to meet him. They were both sweaty and out of breath; Matt cupped a hand around the back of Hoot's neck, rubbed over bristles, caught Hoot's moan with a kiss. Powerful thighs bunched between his as Hoot rocked into him, cock filling him over and over. 

They moved as one, thrusting and counter-thrusting, as perfectly in sync as if they were executing maneuvers out in the field. Matt's toes curled as he pushed up, and Hoot took the hint, each stroke sure and measured. _This_ was why Matt was here – this was why he'd driven straight through from Indy once his penance was done. For this, the oblivion and promise of salvation that only Hoot could provide. 

For the peace he hadn't even known he'd needed. 

"C'mon," Hoot panted, and reached between them, curled strong fingers over Matt's cock, tugging and pulling with the same assured movements of his hips. Their teeth clanged together, tongues scraping as Matt jerked, heart stuttering as he rode the blessedly obliterating wave of pleasure. He was still shuddering, shaking, when he felt Hoot stiffen above him, then collapse to nuzzle at his jaw. 

For a long time after, everything was white and fuzzy around the edges. Matt tried to control his own breathing, ran soothing hands down Hoot's back to help ease his. Every time Matt inhaled, he could smell the heavy scent of sex mingled with sweat. 

Hoot placed a soft kiss to Matt's collarbone, lifted his head. His eyes, normally so alert, were heavy with satisfaction. "Better?" he asked, and Matt nodded. 

"Yeah," he said, both to get the word out in the open, and to assure himself. "Better." 

"Good." Hoot slid from between Matt's thighs onto his side, and hauled Matt against him, throwing an arm across Matt's middle. "Get some rest, man. We got an early start tomorrow." 

"We do?" 

"Mmhmm," Hoot murmured, then yawned, the sound inordinately loud against Matt's ear. "If you're staying, I'm putting you to work helping me plow the back field." 

Simple as that, Matt marveled, and snuggled back against Hoot's chest. He still wasn't sure he deserved this – any of it – but he was smart enough to recognize a gift when he saw it. And to take it for what it was. 

This wasn't perfect, wasn't even a solution, but it was real, and it was now, and maybe, just maybe, Matt could sleep for an entire night without dreaming. It'd be a nice start.

***


End file.
